What a Smile Can Hide
by Liga Turner
Summary: Clary Fray no longer gives a shit. Orphaned and anorexic, she's thrown into yet another institute for those with mental disabilities. She's convinced she'll be out before anyone remembers her name, but what happens if something convinces her to stay?
1. Chapter 1

"It will be three months at most," My caretaker, Charlotte said, "I promise." I looked away from her, forcing myself not to flinch. Promises were meant to be broken. Each and every one of them which I had encountered had merely been a thinly concealed lie.

Instead I focused on my torn up black hoodie- it was unzipped revealing a loose light grey shirt adorned with a handful of black necklaces linked to little silver trinkets. My jeans were as castoff as my jumper; more than a dozen holes sprinkled over the fabric. Lastly, were the black combat boots which I rarely parted with. To say that they were used was an understatement, however they fitted the purpose they were created for and that pleased me enough.

With a barely audible sigh, I tore my gaze from my recycled outfit to the large, daunting building in front of me.

A school for freaks. Just like me.

I found my hands tensely playing with the cuffs on my hoodie, wearing holes into the fabric, as we ascended the large staircase which lead to the front door.

Charlotte skittishly informed me that all the paper work had already been filled out and that the time would 'fly by'. I kept my gaze fixed on the corridor in front of us, my expression giving no indication to my feelings.

We were met by an elderly man by, yet another, staircase. He introduced himself as 'Hodge, the proprietor of the school'.

"Clary, I assume." He regarded me thoughtfully, "Seeing as I've already received all the necessary paperwork, you are all set to join the other students for dinner. I'll get someone to take up your bags." I narrowed my eyes at his suggestion. He knew my condition, I could only assume that he was challenging me.

Inside my heart flipped, but I forced my appearance to remain neutral as I answered, "Great idea."

The sooner I could convince them that I was sane, the soon I could get out of this place.

Charlotte left and I was given directions to a dining hall while Hodge informed me of the fact that he had 'business' to do.

The stretch to the dining hall was horrible and my movements became sluggish as I attempted to waste time walking, hoping I would miss dinner, hoping I wouldn't be forced to _consume_.

However, despite the eternity I had taken to walk there, I could hear the sounds of humanity through a pair of doors as teens munched through their food and conversed.

I took a couple of moments to stand outside and breathe heavily. The thought that food would soon be entering my system made my hand clamp down on my mouth, revolted, and I leaned against the wall, forcing myself to compose my appearance.

After a minute of stalling, I put a shaking hand on the door and pushed the giant oak door open, almost wincing at the giant groaning sound that it made.

Once I had entered the room, it felt as though every eye in the room was on me. Heaps of students intently concentrating on my lame figure. I had known that this was the largest school of its kind in the country, but I had not expected so many people.

Before I could take a step further into the room, a hand was on my shoulder-which I immediately recoiled from and a young man's face was inches from mine.

For a moment, I could have sworn that I saw sparkles in the eyes of the man who spoke, "Sleeves up, Scarlet." I growled quietly at the nickname and my frustration. Sometimes mental homes forgot to check food hidden up sleeves, or believed that it was up to the patient to choose whether they lifted their jackets. Those were the best loony-bins- they allowed me to hide food from my plate.

Lifting my chin a little higher, I pulled my sleeves up, squashing the urge to launch myself out the room. The entire action seemed far too intimate, as though I was sharing my most personal secret.

The man's grin spread further at my bare wrists and he introduced himself as Magnus Bane. I nodded instead of exchanging my own personal details- not exactly in the mood for light-hearted small talk.

"Today, you'll be sitting with me." Magnus explained. I knew the protocol, they wanted to see me eat, analysing whether I could be trusted to sit alone- something I craved more than anything. So I stuck my chin up, and followed him to a table set out with plates-one of which was particularly full, which I assumed was mine.

The plastic chair scraped loudly on the wooden floor as I sat. I glanced around to see that some of students had begun to lose interest, turning back to gossip in their groups. There were many students sat alone, that had barely bothered glancing up when I had entered. I pegged those for the ones I would have most in common with.

Unfortunately, my eyes were forced back to the plate in front of me- spaghetti bolognaise. 600 calories, at least. I gulped nervously, it would take several hundred sit-ups at a slow pace to burn this meal off. My eyes danced around, up at Magnus, to the sickly white table cloth and finally to the silver cutlery which glinted up at me, threateningly. I felt my hands creep up and grasp at the cold, piercing metal. I could feel Magnus' stare burn into my head.

I forced myself to think of what eating this meal would allow me to do- I would be able to sit by myself, have more freedom. On the other hand, it would only add to the great hulking mass that was my stomach. My carer had told me endlessly that what I was seeing was an illusion, but I couldn't deny my own reflection.

Finally, I forced myself to cut off the tiniest bit of pasta and stuff it into my mouth. I tried to chew the prevailing taste as much as humanly possible before the dreaded swallow and the feeling of the food travelling down my oesophagus.

And so, the process continued, until I was satisfied that I had eaten enough not to be harassed for it.

"May I go?" I asked, craving mouthwash. I imagine my mouth to look repulsive.

"I'll get your roommate to show you the way." He replied. _Roommate?_ I thought, _it was going to be harder to burn off calories than I thought._

He called forward a girl called Isabelle, a perky girl who was nervously wringing her hands as she greeted me.

Her condition was clear to my expert eyes- OCD.

Great.

If I didn't want her to hate me I was going to have to keep my shit tidy, not that I really cared.

"Hey, Clary isn't it?" She smiled, but I didn't reciprocate the look. I noticed how her hands shook, I knew she was picturing us shaking hands and flinching from the thought.

"Sure." I replied, rolling the word. I was still focused on the food which seemed to burn my insides. I _needed_ to work out…and soon.

"This way." She smiled, clearly relieved we weren't going to have to touch.

We walked down a couple of corridors and I vaguely kept track of where we were going. Every time we had to pass by a door, Isabelle let me go first so as not to touch the door handle, I heard her mumble numbers in a certain order under her breath and she picked at her skin nervously.

When we got to our room, she immediately crossed to the sink and furiously scrubbed at her hands.

Shrugging, I went to do some push-ups on the floor.

I was on my hundredth one when she was first able to tear her gaze from her hands to my slightly sweaty figure, "Are you sure you should…?" She trailed off. In response I lifted an eyebrow at her red raw hands.

"I guess we're both messed up." She muttered.

We were both done around the same time I had done my five hundredth push up.

I glanced around the room. It was plane, cold, with one window, two beds, two wardrobes and a sink. My suitcase was at the end of one of the beds.

Isabelle immediately went to straighten every single coat hanger in her wardrobe and I collapsed into what I assumed was my bed, messing up my covers and in turn making Isabelle flinch.

"Look, you can put my clothes into my wardrobe if it makes you feel better," I was in a better mood after working out and she grinned gratefully.

"Thank you so much." She gushed, turning to my suitcase, "You're clothes are…clean, right?" I raised an eyebrow at her response, making her blush and scurry to open it with a tissue.

As she sorted my clothes, muttering numbers. I stood up and paced. I needed to shower and clean out my mouth.

Seeing as there was no shower in our room, I opened our door, toiletries in hand, and decided to find one myself. I had taken several turns before realising how stupid it was trying to find a room in a building this large without directions.

"Hey!" I waved over a guy walking in the opposite direction to me, only after he jumped five foot from my sudden greeting. He might have been good-looking if he weren't so pale, with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes. Trauma patient, possible self-harmer.

"Hi?" He rubbed the back of his head, nervously.

"Where's the bathroom?" I demanded, not in the mood for manners.

"Err… keep following this corridor and on the left you'll find one." He fidgeted under my gaze.

"Thanks…" I trailed off.

"Alec."

"Alec." I confirmed, "I'll see you around."

Finding, the girls bathroom was relatively simple after that- despite the fact that Alec had accidently given me directions to the guys' toilets.

Thankfully, it was empty, but the shared showers did not escape my attention.

I began to thoroughly disinfect my mouth with mouthwash when I noticed the giant mirrors placed around the room. Flinching, I directed my gaze back at the sink. My reflection wasn't exactly my biggest fan.

Once I was satisfied that my mouth didn't reek of spaghetti, I stepped into a cubicle. I say cubicle, but the only thing separating me from the next shower head, was a thin cheap cardboard-like material. A-part from that- nothing, one only had to walk past to see…everything.

Embarrassment of my body led me to the decision to keep my bra and undies on as I flicked on the scalding water. I rubbed every ounce of sweat from my body, scrubbing until my skin was scoured raw. While under the blistering water, I found myself absent-mindedly singing 'Take me to Church' by Hozier. My voice was sometimes the only thing I could stand about myself. Of course, every therapist I met attempted to use it to 'cure' me. However, no matter how passionate my love for singing was, it was never enough to pull me back to sanity. It did allow me to practise though.

After a good half hour, I turned the water off and grabbed for my towel. I exhaled a sigh of relief once I had it safely around my body- covering my stomach. I dried my body and my hair before I tied it up in a messy bun.

Next I grabbed for my clothing and cursed when I realised it had gone from where I had left it.

This was common in crazy homes like this one. People with many anxieties or paranoia often felt the need to assert dominance through silly stunts like this one- except it wasn't so silly to me. The clothes I picked were specifically tailored to not give even the slightest hint to my gigantic, deformed body shape. This small towel did hardly anything to cover any flesh.

I groaned and swore a couple more times. I cursed once more after I realised they'd taken my favourite jeans. It sometimes took weeks to get my stuff back, if at all.

I rubbed my hands over my face, tiredly, before pulling the towel around me as securely as possible. Using the toiletries I had brought earlier, I applied winged eyeliner and some lipstick which was as dark red as my crimson hair. The makeup increased my confidence and I tried to convince myself I could find my way back without bumping into anyone.

Taking one final long sigh, I grabbed my toiletries and exited the room. Of course there was no sign of the perpetrator- they were usually too cowardly to stay about and witness their work.

I rushed back towards my room and mercifully no one had seen me. Before long, I realised I was lost. Close to screaming, I retraced my steps and finally found what I hoped was my corridor. I flung open our door to only realise, it wasn't our door at all.

The room was exactly the same as ours, a part from one small difference. Instead of Isabelle sitting on her bed. A blonder-haired male did.

He stared at me in shock, and for a moment we both stood staring at each other. I realised with a deflating sigh how devastatingly good-looking he was with a hard jaw line, golden waves which just touched his shoulders and molten golden eyes. It wasn't hard to recognise his lean, athletic body.

After the moment had passed, he schooled his features into a cocky grin, "Well, usually it takes a lot more persuasion to get a girl naked in my bedroom."

Narrowing my eyes, I pulled the towel around me tighter and declared, "Fuck you." Before striding out of the room.

 **Hey! Please review and tell me what you think :D**

 **I'd like to reiterate that I'm no expert on mental health, I've done some research and I have a few friends who've had mental illness' but this doesn't mean that I know everything and something I've said is bound to be incorrect. I'm sorry if this is offensive in any way, I just had an idea which I wanted to write about.**

 **All rights to Cassandra Claire**


	2. Chapter 2

I was stubbornly pushing a comb through my matted scarlet hair when Isabelle entered back into our room. From the sight of her raw hands I supposed she had washed them again, her condition was worse than I had originally thought.

"You look…" she trailed off, obviously nervous that she might offend me.

"Who do I have to talk to, to get clothes back?" I outright demanded, she didn't look surprised at my question.

"I'm not certain." She replied, nervously tucking a long inky black strand of hair behind her ear, "This place is massive, there's quite a few people who might have done it."

I looked at her annoyance for a couple moments before sighing dramatically and falling back on my bed. Isabelle was wise enough not to complain when the sheets messed up this time, I guess she was just going to have to get used to it. I wasn't going to change my nature for anyone.

"But I'm surprised they took your clothes." She said, I could hear the hint of hesitance in her tone. I propped up my head on my arm and watched as she fiddled with her hairband, searching my expression, "Here, they usually only go for the weak ones. They'd be intimidated by someone like you." I lifted an eyebrow at that, but didn't say anything.

Mulling that over, I dropped my head onto the bed and placed my pillow to cover my face, signalling the end of the conversation. This day had been shit from start to end. I dreaded seeing that golden-haired dick again, I definitely wasn't good at being the humiliated type. Most importantly, I needed to make sure no one messed with me.

The following morning I tried to slip off to a table by myself for breakfast. The school was so large, surely they wouldn't spot me, but I had no such luck.

As soon as I entered the room, Magnus ordered me to roll up my sleeves and handed me a tray. It consisted of cereal with milk (on average around 240 calories), an apple (95 calories), and a yogurt (59 calories). All together around 394 calories. I made a mental note to perform 80 push-ups as soon as possible.

I lead Magnus and me to sit in a secluded area in the corner of the room, mainly just to stall from eating. Once we sat down I went to chomping the food as slowly as possible, I tried not to put too much thought into the food travelling down into my already gigantean stomach but found myself revolted at every mouthful.

Despite my focus being primarily on the food in front of me, I did notice that Magnus wasn't half as focused on me as he was yesterday. However, every thirty seconds he would check that I was consuming.

"Why don't you sit with your roommate?" He eventually asked, his eyes flashed towards me. I glanced around and spied Isabelle sitting with a girl I didn't know, the boy who had given me directions the other day (Alec, Maybe?) and… goldilocks himself.

I almost swore, I wanted to whack my head onto the table. No doubt Isabelle was talking about me to them and the golden freak would probably spill about me running into his room. I groaned, no way did I want that to be the first thing everyone knew about me to be.

"No." I answered bluntly to Magnus, "But feel free to leave me and sit with them." He shot me a dissatisfied glance, I supposed the fact I was unsocial as hell really didn't help with convincing everyone here I was sane. I supressed the urge to sigh, I'd find someone to sit with at some point, but I had really hoped if anyone it would be my roommate- someone I was already forced to spend time with. Now, I would have to actively try to talk to someone.

"Can I leave?" I finally asked, trying to get away with eating only half the yoghurt but Magnus was pissed at me now so forced me to have every last spoonful.

After what felt like an eternity of the revolting yoghurt, forcing myself to not bite off Magnus' head each time he called me 'Scarlett' and struggling not to keep my head from swinging to where Isabelle sat, I was finally given the permission to leave. I was in a bad mood to put it lightly.

With renewed annoyance, I dumped my tray next to the kitchen and strode towards the door, eager to work out and wash my mouth. I turned at the door, to find Goldilocks eyes lock with mine. He was reclining in a stupid plastic chair, a slight smirk upon his face as Isabelle was saying something to him. He looked like a predator sizing up his prey and the thought ticked me off.

Unnerved, and fighting the urge to show him my middle finger, I heaved open the giant door in front of me and left the room. I had made it about two corridors until I spotted the t-shirt I had lost yesterday, strung up onto the ornate lamp above my head. I growled quietly, damn my shortness! I would look like a lunatic trying to jump and get it.

"Lost something?" A sleek, feminine voice came from behind me. I turned slowly, making sure my expression was the epitome of being pissed off and took note of the girl there. She was beautiful, with sheer blonde hair and a delicate, chiselled-looking sort of face.

I took a deep breath, "I'm _really_ the last person you want to be messing with." I threatened, "I'm not trying to assert dominance or any shit like that, I just want to be left alone." I took a couple of steps forward, until we were barely a foot a part.

She laughed quietly, a pretty sound, "Oh, I don't care about that." She took a breath, "I need a favour."

"Why the hell would I help you?" I almost laughed.

"Because," She drew out the word, "I can make your life here _incredibly_ difficult." She didn't elaborate, but I believed her. She looked like the kind of girl with a one-track mind and a resolve to get anyone else out of the way, "Or it could be simple- should you do what I say."

I watch her for a while, trying to unnerve her. It seemed to work as she shifted uneasily, nevertheless I took her threat seriously, "What do you want?" I finally said with a sigh.

She looked as though she doubted whether I was actually willing to help, but told me anyway, "There's this girl, Helen. And well… this place it doesn't allow relationships, never mind homosexual ones." She glanced carefully around the corridor, suddenly paranoid, "We want to get out. They've locked her up in solitary confinement and she'll lose her mind there. They think that her illness is being gay. I can't stand her being there." Tears welled up in her eyes, and a piece of my heart chipped off in sympathy. I'm not a monster.

"What can I do?" I hissed, suddenly aware that we weren't even slightly hidden.

"I heard you singing 'Take me to Church'. You know what that songs about right? We just need help getting her out of solitary confinement and I should be able to take it from there." Her voice's pitch went up an octave. She had gotten pretty desperate and that was clear to me, she was betting on my honest involvement just on hearing me sing a song.

"I might have an idea." I finally said, "Let me sleep on it and I'll get back to you."

"Thank you so much." She smiled and turned to go, "I'm Aline, by the way."

"Clary." I echo, watching her walk away, "Oh and Aline?!" She stopped, turning towards me, "You don't need to steal my stuff to get help from me. I'd like my jeans back."

"Oh." She smiled sheepishly before coming back towards me and grabbing my shirt from the lamp with her long legs, "I'm sorry about that." She handed me the shirt back with the promise she'd give me my jeans back next time she saw me.

 **Hey! I've said this once, but I'm saying it again because I think its important people know. I'm obviously not an expert in mental health. I have, however, done a lot of research, spoken to professionals and have had first and second hand experience of the effects of mental health.**

 **Obviously, not everything I've said is going to be right because disorders vary from person to person, this is just how I have interpreted it.**

 **I apologise for this chapter being fairly short, I've just broken it up as my next chapter is quite long.**


End file.
